Death's Last Days With the Dying

The Garden Wall

Memory 073

The sun burned the earth of Verona unlike how it did Cinnabar. No burning steel and concrete blocks, just pure earth playing with fire, boasting off warmth that pacified the soul. Except, what did I know about souls? I didn't have one.

Two kids were playing ball in a garden walled by rows of Miss Molly Butterfly Bush, a terrier watching them. A lady joined them, carrying a tray of glasses filled with lemonade. I passed by them, the dog barking towards my direction, and headed to the other end of the garden where Prudence was staring into the sun.